Calamus
by scully1138
Summary: Future fiction, set shortly after the current Shadow Box cliffhanger. This is a Rinch story (modest slash.) So consider yourself warned! This is also my very first fan fiction. I hadn't planned on writing anything, but after that cliffhanger I had to do something! The story is inspired by, and includes lines from, Whitman's "Whoever You Are, Holding Me Now in Hand." (public domain)


Calamus

_Whoever you are, holding me now in hand,  
Without one thing all will be useless,  
I give you fair warning before you attempt me further,  
I am not what you supposed, but far different.  
Who is he that would become my follower?  
Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?_

John was back safely now, but returning to business as usual was proving difficult. He and Finch always had known the dangers, of course. But they also had become accustomed to luck remaining on their side, and to trusting in their own skills. Now these recent encounters with Root and the FBI had left them feeling newly vulnerable. Constantly seeing the other in jeopardy was making them both miserable, yet giving up on the numbers was unthinkable. While John was in custody, the separation had been wrenching - almost a physical pain – and they soldiered on now under the unspoken realization that they had so much more to lose.

_The way is suspicious, the result uncertain, perhaps destructive,  
You would have to give up all else, I alone would expect to be your sole and exclusive standard,  
Your novitiate would even then be long and exhausting,  
The whole past theory of your life and all conformity to the lives around you would have to be abandon'd… _

John had been aware for a while that he was hoping they would come together in the only remaining way. But in all the possible scenarios he envisioned, it never occurred to him that it would be Harold who made the first move. It had been a particularly harrowing day. They were drained, and Harold had allowed himself to wander back to John's apartment. They sat wordlessly. As comfortable as they were in each other's presence, tonight the tension between them was also palpable.

And John was at a loss as to how to proceed with his reserved friend.

But suddenly Harold was out of his chair, moving toward him with a stride that was determined and a look that was helpless, and John was ready to go all in.

It was then, of course, that the phone rang. And out of sheer instinct, John flipped it on. "Hey Carter," he said awkwardly, before Harold cut in with a clipped, hoarse voice. "We're fine, detective. Thanks for checking," and cut her off cold. "Finch, that was-" John began with a chuckle but stopped, startled as Harold ripped the ear bud from his ear. Amused and more than a little shocked, John realized that he had never loved this surprising man more than he did right now, in this moment.

And it was utterly pointless to call what was between them anything but love. John had never considered himself a romantic, or a sensualist, for that matter. But now he was swept up in something beyond his experience and understanding, something that felt right and trustworthy beyond logic and reason.

He looked back at Harold, whose expression had suddenly turned hesitant, vulnerable. Before John's heart could break completely, he said softly, "Harold, you _know_ I will never hurt you." Such a cliché; it would sound ridiculous to his own ears if he didn't feel it so deeply. And that was all it took. He hoped they would make it to the bedroom.

_But just possibly with you on a high hill, first watching lest any person for miles around approach unawares,  
Or possibly with you sailing at sea, or on the beach of the sea or some quiet island,  
Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you, With the comrade's long-dwelling kiss or the new husband's kiss,  
For I am the new husband and I am the comrade._

And later, watching Harold sleep – safe in his bed – John felt an array of emotions that were still a mystery to him. Nor could he explain how this new connection somehow made what might lie ahead for them more bearable. Perhaps it was - in their resolve to not live risk-free lives – that they had just taken their greatest risk yet. It wasn't a perfect situation, but it was enough – much more than enough.

FIN

A/N: So there you are. I'm glad I got that out of my system. This was very therapeutic and I feel a lot better now. I can't read this poem without thinking about our guys, and this is what happened when I just ran with that. The poetry feels like Harold's POV, so it seemed natural that the story would be John's POV. Calamus is the name of a group of poems by Walt Whitman, which includes "Whoever You Are, Holding Me Now in Hand." The Calamus poems are part of Whitman's book "Leaves of Grass," and Whitman wrote the Calamus poems to describe "the manly love of comrades." Whitman may have been inspired by the mythological love story of two Greek youths, Kalamos and Karpos. When Karpos drowned during a swimming competition, the grief-stricken Kalamos allowed himself to drown as well, rather than be seperated from his love. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.


End file.
